


Policies and Procedures for Being Emily Locke

by Nerissa



Category: Powerless (TV 2017), Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Getting Held Hostage on a Balcony at L-Corp, Getting Together, Getting to Discover Your Girlfriend's Secret Identity and Questioning All Your Life Choices to Date, Getting to Know Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-25 14:31:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10766172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerissa/pseuds/Nerissa
Summary: Emily has certain guidelines she adheres to. They're meant to make life easier. And maybe if she could manage to follow them for any length of time, they actuallywould. . . but something about Kara Danvers makes it impossible to stick to the plan.





	Policies and Procedures for Being Emily Locke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).



****I. Policy and Procedure When Travelling for Work** **

  * Keep receipts
  * Liaise and generate connections
  * See the sights with a local, if possible
  * Pack intestinal regulators and water from home
  * Keep it professional



 

Kara Danvers was possibly the most excellent person Emily had ever met, but she was wreaking havoc on Emily’s standard policy for their entire meeting.

Every major undertaking in Emily’s life had a policy attached because it made life simpler. When you knew what to do, you could do it. It was easy. But along came Kara Danvers, and suddenly policy and procedure seemed like the most pointless thing Emily had ever heard of in her life.

It wasn’t Kara’s fault (was anything ever Kara’s fault? Emily tried to professionally, objectively allow for the possibility that something could be Kara’s fault, and failed. Imagining Kara at fault would be like attributing malice to your puppy for chewing on slippers) but it was still a problem. Ever since Kara had walked into the room head-and-shoulders first and shook Emily’s hand, Emily had struggled to remember why she was there.

Luckily Kara reminded her, smile bright and eager.

“Look, I want to thank you so much for coming. Ever since Wayne Security posted their last quarter’s profits, my boss said Cat’s been pestering him to find out who performed the lobotomy.”

Emily blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh,” Kara flushed, “I maybe shouldn’t have said . . . you know Cat Grant? She used to run CatCo, and even though she isn’t really here anymore, she still takes an interest. James doesn’t mind. Says it’s hair-raising. Makes him remember he’s alive.” She paused, considering. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, either. But what it comes down to is Cat knows your boss, and she said nothing short of a lobotomy could have got him those results. So we looked into it, because a lobotomy would have been a great story, but there wasn’t one. Instead there was you! So we invited you for the feature.”

The feature. Right. Emily pounced on the reminder with gratitude. She was there to be interviewed for CatCo’s annual feature,  _Women to Watch: Top 30 Under 30_. Unsurprising that she’d forgotten, since ever since Kara shook her hand she’d had a hard time even remembering her own name, much less what her job actually entailed. That degree of flustered wasn’t like her at all and it was starting to freak her out.

“So Emily,” Kara pinned her with the sort of smile that could have lit up even the dingiest interior office cubicle, “tell me about yourself.”

And such was Emily’s overpowering need to oblige Kara Danvers in all things, she told her _everything_.

Kara listened, prompted only when absolutely necessary, and otherwise just let Emily talk. She asked a couple clarifying questions, but otherwise stayed pretty much out of it. Only when Emily really started to wind down did Kara take control of the conversation once more, steering it around to the few things Emily had done her best to gloss over.

“How would you describe the work environment at Wayne Security when it comes to promoting the career advancement of women?”

It wasn’t fair of Kara to ask the question so adorably, her pen poised both to answer and also ready to bump her glasses back into place in case they slipped down on her nose again. The last time they slipped down it had taken everything Emily possessed in the way of willpower not to nudge them back into place herself. Or maybe slide them right off . . .

 _Christ, Locke, get hold of yourself_.

She gave her head a quick shake, trying to reconstruct the question.

“How would I . . . right. Um, as a work environment for women, Wayne Security is . . . I mean, I’d say it’s probably about . . . on _par_ with most other companies of its ilk.”

Kara scrunched her nose when Emily said “ilk” and Emily wanted to believe it was cause Kara thought the word was as fun to hear as Emily always found it was to say. But in reality, Kara seemed to be struggling with the idea of Wayne Security as a company that accorded its female employees anything near the necessary respect.

“Really? Van Wayne’s been tied to a number of complaints regarding his behaviour toward employees. Particularly women. Last report was seventy separate incidents—”

“Well I mean, taken out of context—”

“—this year.”

Emily squirmed.

“That’s . . . some context. But he was very supportive of my coming to National City for this feature.”

No need to tell Kara he had somehow got the impression Emily was auditioning for a tampon commercial, and encouraged her to use the opportunity to put in a plug for Wayne Security’s Spatter Shield (protects against blood, dust and debris; not bulletproof. Patent pending). She didn’t want to lie, but she also definitely didn’t want to say anything that would make him regret giving her the time off (unpaid time off, sure, but _still_ ).

“I think,” she constructed her answer carefully, “you will find Mr. Wayne is capable of _growth_. Like a . . .”

“Tumour?”

Emily blinked, opened her mouth to deny it, and ended up choking on a snort of laughter instead.

“Oh no,” she said, clapping both hands over her mouth, “I didn’t mean to—please don’t quote me on that.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to _spell_ that sound you just made,” Kara promised. “And look, I don’t mean it to come off like I’m trying to get you to trash talk your boss. It’s just, Wayne Security has historically been pretty much a nonentity. I was surprised and, honestly, impressed with the improvements we’ve seen since you came on board. It’s why I told James I wanted you included in this piece.”

Emily was so overcome at this news, she almost forgot how distractingly lovely Kara really was.

“You did?” Her voice went up half an octave on the second word. She tried not to mind. “Thank you.”

“Tell you what.” Kara capped her pen—because of course she had a pen, not a laptop or a voice recorder or whatever. Kara Danvers was the kind of refreshing that came with a pen and yellow legal pad—“how about we finish this outside? I can show you around National City, and ask you my last questions somewhere with a little more fresh air.”

Although Emily didn’t delude herself that Kara was feeling the closeness of the office for the same reasons, she still pounced on the suggestion. She needed some air. And really, _anybody_ who had the effect on a person that Kara had on Emily was better enjoyed in a well-ventilated area. Otherwise, the warm prickles running up her neck to her face were going to distract her so much, there was no way she’d reach the end of the interview and still be able to remember her own name.

 _Damn it!_ She gave herself an aggressive, almost desperate mental shake. _Keep it professional! That’s the rule! You know the rules—you made them yourself. So for God’s sake, keep it professional._

But one more look at Kara and Emily was unable to remember why that had been the rule in the first place. So she willingly sacrificed professionalism in favour of agreeing to take a tour of National City with somebody who admitted she was not a local, which made that rule the second casualty of the day.

Kara asked the rest of her questions (there were six more) as they walked, but Emily hardly heard her own answers, she was so fixated on her tour guide.

Kara clearly knew her way around, but she walked like somebody who wanted to be shorter than she really was, head down, hands tucked in her pockets, elbows accidentally bowed outward until she caught a passerby in the side and somehow actually knocked him off his feet. Kara was more than contrite over the accident; she seemed genuinely upset.

“He’s okay,” Emily assured her for the fifth time, as they made their way back to CatCo. “He said so himself.”

“He was just embarrassed,” Kara fretted. “He didn’t want to admit I’d hurt him. I need to watch where I’m going.”

“Hey,” Emily tugged on Kara’s sleeve, compelling her to turn and face her, “no! I mean, it’s the city, it’s a busy street, it could happen to anybody. And it isn’t like a—a glancing blow from your elbow could cause him any major damage anyway, right?”

“Right,” said Kara, but she was no more convincing than the wheezing, winded man had been when he clutched his gut and gasped that no, really, he was just fine.

It was in that moment, seeing Kara so concerned for the wellbeing of a perfect stranger she’d by some weird fluke managed to topple to the pavement, that Emily felt the last shreds of her resolve to follow her self-constructed procedure tug free and take to the wind. To hell, she thought, with keeping work travel professional. And when their interview officially ended with Kara personally calling Emily a cab, and—Emily had to ask Kara to repeat herself just to be sure she’d heard right—inviting her to meet that night for a _not_ interview, Emily had to concede:

Some rules were meant to be broken.

 

****II.** Policy and Procedure for the First Date**

  * Don’t discuss prior relationships.
  * Keep it light! Neutral topics only.
  * Don’t just talk about work. Discuss hobbies
  * (Develop some hobbies)
  * Under absolutely no circumstances should it end in . . . you know.



 

Kara’s choice of restaurant was a quiet, warmly-lit little establishment that specialized in tables too small for more than two people. The hostess who met them seemed to know Kara on sight, and when Emily, settling into her seat, mentioned it, Kara rushed to declaim any kind of personal importance whatsoever.

“I used to make reservations for Ms. Grant when I was her assistant. Having her seen eating anywhere is actually pretty rare. She didn’t really _eat_ so much as she _business lunched_ , so it was good press if you could get her. I think they’re just grateful that I booked her here twice.”

Emily wondered if this was a violation of the “don’t discuss work” rule, then decided not, because she didn’t really have rules for what her date could discuss.

“So you’ve never eaten here before?” she wondered, skimming the menu. “I was hoping for a recommendation.”

“Oh,” Kara said, with breathtaking sincerity, “it’s _all_ good. I mean, I can smell it from here. Can’t you?”

Come to think of it, she could. Emily inhaled just as the door to the kitchen swung open, and her mouth started to water. Garlic, tomatoes . . . something sweet and yeasty . . . her stomach gurgled in happy anticipation. She wouldn’t have thought it was loud enough to hear over the clink of cutlery and general dinner chatter, but the way Kara smiled at her didn’t leave much room for doubt.

“If it isn’t too much of a mood killer,” she said persuasively, “I think I could write this off as a business expense. So we could really put this menu through its paces. _If_ you think you’re up to it.”

“Am I?” Emily brightened. “ _Am_ I? Oh just you wait.”

So Kara caught the attention of the waiter and proceeded to order what Emily considered an impressive quantity of food.

“You know,” Emily said, as their order made its way toward the kitchen, “you remind me a little of Green Fury. She’s got this _doughnut_ fixation. I mean, yes, she saves a lot of doughnut shops, but that’s usually because she’s already in them so she’s handy when they get hit.”

Kara tipped her head to the side and studied Emily appraisingly.

“So that tabloid headline about the two of you a little while back . . . fact or fiction?”

“Fiction!” Emily promised, mortified to feel her cheeks heat up. “Okay yes, I did save her life once. But we’re not a couple. I mean, obviously. Otherwise I wouldn’t . . .” she gestured at the table between them and Kara smiled a little too widely at that, so Emily grabbed her water glass and took a long, slow drink to hide the deepening intensity of her blush.

“In that case,” Kara said, “I’m extra glad it’s not true.”

Emily, glass still pressed firmly to her lips, took a second drink.

Eventually water gave way to wine, and Emily’s blushes bothered her less. Their food arrived, piping hot and almost ridiculous in quantity. Together (okay, Kara pulled more than her weight) they worked their way through three appetizers, seven side dishes and a fun but largely superficial series of topics.

Emily did reveal a few of her policies for first dates, mostly because she hadn’t come up with any hobbies yet so she was pretty stretched for conversation. Plus, Kara seemed to think it was adorable, having so many procedures for life, so Emily counted all of that a general win even if some of her actual policies for first dates had been, if not exactly broken, at least a little banged up in passing.

Then Kara let it slip that she was an orphan, and everything spun on its axis.

It wasn’t the admission itself that was the problem. The conversation led them to that revelation naturally enough. Emily, halfway through her not-first glass of wine, mentioned certain traits she shared with her mother. Kara smiled wistfully and said yes, she’d only just started to notice certain similarities between herself and her parents before they died.

But that wasn’t the issue.

No, the upsetting part was the way that, almost immediately after making the revelation, Kara looked like she wanted to take it back. Not out of embarrassment, Emily noted: no, more like she had realized a few moments too late that she’d disclosed far more of herself in that moment than she’d meant to. As if maybe Kara had a few policies of her own.

So Emily, determined to make it, if not less awkward for Kara, at least equally awkward for both of them, blurted out “I think you are unfairly beautiful and I’d really like to kiss you on the mouth.”

The confession might possibly have had less to do with noble self sacrifice than it did the wine. But she stood by it. Or would have, if she’d been standing. Standing didn’t seem advisable, though, when your legs were turning to jelly under the table.

_Damn it, Locke, that was not a neutral topic. What the hell is the matter with you?_

But it was too late to take it back, so Emily held her breath and waited for the response.

Kara blinked, open-mouthed, at Emily’s confession. She seemed to be weighing a number of things very quickly, or maybe just wrestling with one really big, important thing; Emily didn’t know her anywhere near well enough to guess which it was. Finally Kara leaned across the table and, with equal parts visible nervousness and determination, said “well then maybe we should go back to my place.”

“We don't have to. I could kiss you right here,” Emily offered, which, yes, _also_ utterly un-neutral. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“That’s good news.” Kara scrunched her cheeks up in a rosy smile. “But I think, if I started to do some of the things I want to do to you right here? You might be.”

“Oh!” Emily said, and discovered that yes, she was, just a little. “Well okay then. Your place.”

They took the meal with them, done up in an impossible number of cardboard boxes. Somehow Kara carried them all. Every single one. It was a magical night.

 

**III. Policy and Procedure for . . . YOU know**

  * Safety first!



 

“Should we—oh!” Emily broke off in a surprised, not-at-all-dismayed squeak as Kara lifted her easily off the floor. “Wow. You’re _really_ strong.”

Her train of thought was pleasantly, thoroughly derailed for a few moments as Kara trailed a line of earnest kisses down her neck, but she fought her way back to coherence as Kara carried her toward the bed.

“Wait, we haven’t—I mean, shouldn’t we be . . . test- _ohh._ ” Kara’s lips did a thing to her earlobe that was somewhere between a nip and suck. “Oh my . . . damn it. Tested!” She jerked back with frantic, fading resolve. “You know. For . . .” she had read twelve different pamphlets and three reputably-sourced websites on this exact subject, so why the _hell_ couldn’t she remember the name of even one sexually-communicable infection?

“ . . . everything?”

Kara blinked at her through a haze of lust and slightly fogged-up glasses (the night air had taken a decided turn for the chilly. The heat of her apartment—and their embrace—had not helped).

“Oh,” she said. “Yes. I mean, yes, of course.” She looked like it had never occurred to her to worry about that, which Emily thought was a little odd. Kara did not come across as the careless type. Even so, she started to ease Emily to the ground, then paused. “Though, we could just be _really_  careful. And get tested tomorrow? I know a lab.”

Emily considered the suggestion. It was probably, objectively, not the best idea. There was careful, and then there was _safe_.

Right?

Right.

But Kara’s hand was still tangled in Emily’s hair, and the other hand was cupped over her breast in a way that Emily’s blouse did nothing to protect her from. Kara’s hand was warm, strong and Emily wanted Kara to use it to tear her blouse off. Every part of her was taut and aching for this to go much, much farther than standing up in the living area of Kara’s apartment (although if Kara had wanted to make it work right there, Emily was game to try).

“Really careful,” she whispered.

Kara’s mouth came crashing down over hers, hungry and wanting. At the same time it felt almost like she was holding back, which didn’t make sense, because she was kissing Emily with such force Emily was pretty sure she was going to have a bruise there tomorrow.

“And tested,” she mumbled, as Kara backed her over to the bed, “ _first_ thing tomorrow.”

Her blouse didn’t last the whole way to the bed. Emily tried to shrug out of it, but Kara, so helpful, removed it for her, then settled Emily onto the pillows with a scrupulous gentleness that belied the force of all earlier kisses.

“Are you okay with this?” she wondered. She really did look uncertain, even through the haze of her obvious desire. “I don’t want—if you really aren’t sure . . .”

Emily was already calculating the risk of each possible type of contact and ruling out those which carried an unacceptable proportion of hazard-to-reward ratio, but she spared Kara an affirmative smile.

“I,” she promised, “am very _very_ sure.”

“Oh, well then,” Kara said, “I mean, if you’re very  _very_ sure. . .”

She pulled her own top over her head, and her bra with it. Emily’s mouth went parched and paper-dry at the sight.

Everything about Kara was perky and bright, her breasts included. There was an unbearable creamy glow to the smooth, small globes, and the taut perfection of the peak of each nipple . . . suddenly Emily’s mouth was not dry anymore.

She reached up, caught Kara’s hand in hers and drew her gently down until her breasts were just a breath away. Cautiously, reverently, Emily took one in her mouth and sucked.

Kara’s soft gasp heated and moistened entirely southerly parts of Emily. Her mouth was full, but it wasn’t enough. She started to reach down. Kara beat her to it, her hand sliding up Emily’s skirt, cupping her palm gently over the thin fabric stretched across Emily’s sex. She couldn't feel Kara's skin, but the warmth and shape of her hand through the fabric was tantalizing with its nearness.

“Is this okay?”

Emily, wordless, mouth full, could only jerk her head in greedy assent. So Kara stroked her, feather-light, until Emily was gasping in desperation.

“Please,” she choked, “right—”

Kara seemed to _know_. Her head tipped to the side, like she was listening to something Emily couldn’t even hear, she deepened the pressure with short, firm strokes until Emily arched against her touch with an urgent whimper. Kara paused, partly teasing, partly calculating, and then— _there_.

Everything Kara stoked to the breaking point broke loose through Emily in desperate, clutching ripples. The muscles from the soles of her feet to the deepest part of her pelvis all contracted in hungry gratitude and Kara smiled sweetly at her, still stroking, until everything settled from flutters to tremors to soft, perfect stillness.

Emily softened against Kara, limp and sated. It took her a few minutes to pull herself together enough to say, “. . . and now you.”

Kara laughed.

“Why, are we in some kind of rush?”

They weren’t, but Emily was the kind of person who started composing her thank you cards the moment she unwrapped the present, and considering that Kara had just got her off faster _and_ better than she’d ever done for herself, Emily was desperate to return the favour, even though she was secretly convinced there’s no way she could have made Kara feel half as good as Kara had made her feel.

She didn’t really know how to put all that into words, though, so she just said “well I guess not,” and settled back on the pillow, mentally composing her eventual expression of gratitude. One of the things she wanted to try presented a problem, though, unless . . .

“You said you knew somewhere we could be tested?”

“I do.” Kara stared at her from the other pillow, something a little remote creeping into her expression. “Do you want to go there? Tomorrow?”

“We’d better. Before we . . . I mean,” she smiled a little crookedly, embarrassed at her own eagerness. “Again.”

Kara beamed at her in frank enjoyment of the whole situation.

“Again, huh?”

“When the first time’s that good,” Emily said firmly, “there has to be a second.”

Kara’s smile was gentle; teasing.

“Is that a policy too?”

“Absolutely.” Emily jerked her head against the pillows in vigorous assent. “As of about five minutes ago, absolutely it is.”

 

****IV.** Policy and Procedure for Breaking Too Many Rules in Rapid Succession**

  * Panic



 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Emily was not aware of having spoken above a whisper, but even so, Kara poked her head out of the bathroom the next morning, toothbrush sticking out the side of her mouth, and looked at her in concern.

“You okay?”

“Oh! Yeah. I just . . . I’m wondering if I haven’t made a _lot_ of mistakes.”

Kara sidled out of the bathroom, a frown scrunching her forehead.

“You mean last night?”

“Most recently. But even before that, with the—the date, and the lunch. I broke SO many rules.”

“Wayne Security has rules about dating the people doing a feature on you?”

“No! I don’t mean their rules, I mean _mine_. I have a lot . . . okay, I mean, _maybe_ even a few too many rules. About a lot of things. But having a lot of rules is a way of keeping myself safe, you know? I didn’t grow up in a city. I grew up where it was really boring and safe. Nothing much ever happened there. And now here I am, living this incredibly dangerous life just by virtue of being around all these superheroes and the villains that come with them and—did you know, they can really foul up your morning commute? I had no idea, before I moved to Charm City, but they’re a total traffic hazard. So the rules are there to make it a little less dangerous for me to leave my house every morning.”

Kara had been inching forward while Emily unpacked her second-guesses in a torrent of anxious self-doubt, so by the time she finished, they were nearly side by side. She slid a cautious hand onto Emily’s arm, like she was afraid the contact might make her bolt.

“It’s okay to be scared,” she promised. “I mean, what is fear really? Mostly just your body deciding the risks of a situation are greater than the potential rewards, and trying to get you out of there. But . . .” she hesitated, her hand still settled on Emily’s arm, unwilling to break contact. “But I think you should know, last night wasn’t really something I’d normally do either. I just felt that for me to take a chance with _you_ , the risks were nowhere near as great as the rewards.”

She smiled apologetically, and stuck the toothbrush back in her mouth.

“That’h all.”

A sweet, tingly feeling much sweeter than arousal washed over Emily from head to toe.

“Oh,” she said. “Well . . . all right then.” She watched Kara shuffle back toward the bathroom, feeling much better about life, when the thought struck.

“Hey—what about that lab?”

* * *

 

It was not an ordinary lab. Emily wasn’t even entirely sure she knew what an ordinary lab would be like, since her workplace was certainly no example, but the one Kara took her to verged on Wayne Security levels of weird, except DEO Biological Services seemed to err on the side of excessive competence instead of the other extreme.

There was barely even a waiting room, just a strange collection of cubicles off a main entrance with a complicated series of hospital curtains that Emily could have sworn she heard the nurse inform Kara, in a whisper, “took a really stupid amount of time to put up, so I hope you’re happy.”

Which made absolutely no sense, any more than Kara’s response of “ _please_ , Alex” did, so Emily knew she must have heard wrong.

They didn’t even have to wait at all. The red-haired nurse who took the cultures was, if a little short on bedside manner, at least not rough or rude. She even cracked a small smile at Emily before disappearing with her collection of samples, and Emily decided that brisk efficiency was hardly a reason to be put off a medical facility, no matter how atypical it might have been.

The processing was also briskly efficient. In almost no time at all the nurse reappeared with a pair of large envelopes and handed one each to Kara and Emily. The upshot of everything was there was absolutely no way Emily could give or contract anything to or from Kara Danvers (who insisted on taking them both out for pizza and ice cream to celebrate this revelation) which Emily decided to count as _mostly_ following procedure.

Safety first . . . or at very least, second. She could live with that.

 

**V. Policy and Procedure for a Long Distance Relationship**

  * Don’t do this, it’s too complicated, nobody is worth the hassle.



 

After Emily went home to Charm City, Kara called her almost every night. The nights she didn’t, Emily called her. They had been together-but-apart nearly a month when the piece CatCo ran on Emily came out, and Emily called Kara to enthuse over it.

“I’m glad you like it,” Kara laughed. Her voice was only slightly distorted by the speakerphone; without the phone in hand, Emily could almost pretend she was right there on the couch beside her. Emily, brandishing the magazine, grinned until she felt her cheeks might split.

“Like it? You made me sound all grown up and confident. Like I know exactly what I’m doing with my life. I _love_ it.”

“I’m glad, but I have to say, I didn’t really make you sound that way. You did it all on your own.”

“And look at everybody else! I mean oh my God, you’ve got Lena Luthor. I’m actually in the same magazine article as _Lena Luthor_. She is a bona fide genius and she’s in the same article as me. That is unreal.”

“You know, she thinks _you_ sound pretty impressive too. At least that’s what she told me.”

“Wait,” Emily almost rolled off the couch, jerking around to stare at the phone by her head. “You _know_ Lena Luthor?”

“Who do you think wrote that piece on her? Though actually, I knew her before that interview. I think you’d like each other in person, too. She’s pretty great.”

Her tone softened.

“Just like you.”

Emily was suddenly, uncomfortably aware of the miles that stretched between Charm City and National City. Tonight, when she wished most keenly that they might be fewer, they seemed especially great.

“I wish you were here,” she sighed. “That you could just get in a plane and fly here right away. Wouldn’t that be the best?”

“Uh, yeah,” Kara agreed. “I wish I could do that, too.” She paused. “Or that you could be here.”

“Sure,” Emily agreed, “that too.”

There was a longer pause, stretching out to the point that Emily wondered if they’d lost the connection.

“Kara? Hey, Kara?”

“I’m still here. Just . . . hang on. I have kind of an idea. Can I call you back?”

Emily said sure. Then she leaned over and stabbed at the speaker button, still dreaming wistfully of that jet.

 

**VI. Policy and Procedure When Kidnapped (or subjected to other forms of endangerment)**

  * Never on a weeknight
  * If on a weeknight, politely request a reschedule
  * If the supervillain, henchman and/or career criminal is unable to accommodate your request to rebook, try to use your down time to reschedule tomorrow’s commitments.
  * If you are unable to reschedule, try to maintain a positive attitude and do your best to attract the attention of a passing superhero



 

“Well,” Emily peered over the edge of the balcony, attempting to follow the trajectory of the phone Jack O’Lantern had ripped from her hand before she could rebook her evening’s dinner plans, “maybe it’s not broken.”

Lena Luthor looked genuinely impressed, which seemed a little odd for a person who was, like Emily, bound to a support column on her office balcony. But then, Lena Luthor hadn’t responded to any of this situation in a way that normal people would. Even when her interview with Emily had been cut dramatically short by a flying man in a metal face mask crashing into her office window (“Plexiglas,” she’d said coolly, reaching for a panic button. “I had it replaced after the last time. This kind of thing has been happening a _lot_ lately _._ ”) she hadn’t seemed the least bit flustered.

Nor when Jack O’Lantern had melted the locks on the doors so they couldn’t get out and help couldn’t get in, or even when he’d dragged them both out to the balcony and tied them to the supports, cackling maniacally all the while. No, through it all Lena had looked little more than irritated and mildly apprehensive, and now, seeing Emily hope that her phone might have survived a twenty-storey fall, she appeared downright charmed.

“Kara was right,” she marvelled, “you are adorably optimistic, even by her standards.”

Emily blushed at the idea of Kara telling anybody, much less Lena Luthor, that she thought Emily was adorable. But then, she’d have had to tell Lena _something_ to get Emily the interview. Emily had just imagined it inclined more toward her efficiency than her optimism.

“I don’t see the point in succumbing to negativity. And, in case I don’t get the chance to say so later on, I appreciate you granting this interview.”

“I didn’t _grant_ it,” Lena corrected her, “you earned it. I’m familiar with Wayne Security’s track record. I’ve been following it for some time now. Productivity jumped fourteen percent in your first quarter with them; twenty-six percent at the end of your first year. The questionable functionality of certain product releases aside, I’d have been crazy _not_ to meet with you.”

“Aww,” Emily bounced happily within the confines of her bonds. Then her smile slipped as she replayed the entirety of the compliment. “Um. Sorry. Questionable functionality?”

“Well,” Lena said apologetically. “You have to admit that the Wayne Security Poncho is not all that it could be.”

“Hey, that is a _great_ product!”

“It doesn’t even keep you dry.”

“We’re working on that!”

“In that case, I look forward to following its pro—damn. He’s back.”

Jack O’Lantern hurtled back onto the balcony, trailing puffs of foul, dark smoke in his wake. Settling against the railing, he glanced at Emily then focused most of his attention on Lena. Emily, stealing a sidelong glance of her own at Lena, attempted to mimic her icy nonchalance. She definitely didn’t have as much practice, but she was grateful for the example.

“Let me guess,” said Lena, “this is something to do with my brother.”

It isn’t possible for a metal mask’s features to register surprise, but Jack’s shoulders did twitch and jerk, which conveyed the same impression. Like maybe he’d even forgotten who Lena’s brother was.

“No, this is about Supergirl.”

Emily gave up clinging to icy nonchalance in the face of her own confusion. She was glad to see Lena had done the same.

“What do you want with Supergirl?” she wondered, before Lena could ask the same question.

Charm City hadn’t seen a lot of Supergirl, but every now and then she would appear on the news with Superman and sometimes even Crimson Fox, when they teamed up to take care of something Metropolis-adjacent that was too much for Crimson Fox to handle herself. There’d even been a tabloid rumour about Crimson Fox and Supergirl, but that had played out pretty fast when it turned out Crimson Fox and Green Fury were something of an item.

(the internet was calling them Green Fox, which made no sense to Emily. She thought Crimson Fury was the infinitely more appealing option, but Kara said Snapper Carr was pretty tone deaf when it came to things like that, and he’d been the first to run the story, so the name had stuck)

Supergirl was a known quantity but she wasn’t anything like a fixture in Emily’s life, so the idea that a second-rate villain like Jack O’Lantern would have a grudge to pick with her didn’t make much sense. Lena apparently agreed, and lacked the tact to keep her opinion to herself.

“You?” she scoffed. “What would Supergirl ever have to do with _you_?”

Emily flinched in anticipation of the fireball that never came. Instead Jack fumed and smoked angrily on the edge of the balcony.

“Right, cause she’s too good for me, is that it?” he rasped. “Well, we’ll see about that. Three times there’s record of her saving you. Maybe even more that people don’t know about. I don’t know if the things they’re saying about her and Crimson Fox were ever true, but I’m pretty sure when it comes to you, she won’t be able to keep out of it. She’ll come to save you and, uh, this one,” he jerked a careless thumb in Emily’s direction, and she tried not to bristle at being such an obvious afterthought, “and then people are gonna _know_ me. I’ll be moving up in the world!” He puffed up a little, misshapen mask skewing to the side. “Maybe I’ll even get invited to be part of things next time somebody plans an apocalypse.”

Lena Luthor, whose brother had been behind the most recently-thwarted apocalypse, narrowed her eyes but otherwise did not react. Emily had no idea how she could look so calm and collected. She was sweating into her ropes and her nose itched. Seeing Lena look like she’d never itched anywhere in her life was encouraging and demoralizing by turns.

“Well,” Lena said at last, “whatever you’ve got planned for when Supergirl shows up, you had better hope it’s good.”

“Good?” Jack O’Lantern boasted. “It’s the best! It’s—” he never got to complete his oversell, though, because just in the nick of time he saw the reflection in the glass behind Lena of what she had already noticed: a bright blue and red figure streaking down toward them. He rolled to the side just in time to avoid the full-body tackle and made an attempt to swing back around behind the pillar Lena was bound to, but he overshot (possibly, Emily thought, his initial collision with the window had stunned him slightly) and bounced off the Plexiglas for the second time that day, crashing to the balcony in a heap at Emily’s feet.

Evidently deciding that his backup prisoner had to be good for _something_ , he singed through her ropes with a single swipe and hauled her over to the side of the balcony. Supergirl curved up in a graceful arc, hovering over them so the sun was at her back. Emily squinted at the shapely figure, cape and skirt fluttering in the wind, and knew, in some distant part of her, that if she wasn’t about to be thrown off a balcony she’d definitely be appreciating what nice legs Supergirl had.

Instead—yup. Thrown off a balcony.

“Now the world will know my name!” Jack O’Lantern gloated, but Emily didn’t even have time to react to that because, well, gravity.

 _So_  much gravity.

Just as it occurred to her that screaming was probably the natural reaction under the circumstances, a pair of arms wrapped snugly around her, a warm body pressed up against her back, and instead of falling Emily was _flying_.

And it was a million times better than anything she could ever have imagined.

“Oh,” she gasped. The street below them zipped past—or, more technically, they zipped along above it—and the late afternoon sun bounced and beamed at them from the glassy surface of every skyscraper. It was the second most fun she’d had since leaving home to work for Wayne Security, and she craned her neck to look up into the face of the person who had made it possible . . .

The scream Emily hadn’t had time to make when she fell off the building ripped out of her in an angry, frightened blast.

“ _Kara?_  What the  _hell!_ ”

Kara—no, Supergirl—no, _definitely_ Kara, there was no mistaking that forehead scrunch—faltered mid-flight, then recovered.

“No,” she said, “I think you have me confused—”

“Oh don’t you even _think_ —” Emily fumed, then broke off, gagging, as she swallowed a fly. “Oh my god. Oh, gross. Okay, that’s it with the whole-new-world montage here, take me back to . . . oh no,” she paled in belated concern. “Lena! She’s the reason he went there. He still has Lena, he’s going to—”

“Relax,” Kara said gently, and such was the comforting authority in her voice, Emily instinctively complied. “I didn’t come alone. Crimson Fox is with me.”

Even so, Kara altered course and headed back toward L Corp. They were coming into view of the balcony, and Emily could just make out the tiny red frame of Crimson Fox angled toward Lena over the crumpled shape of Jack O’Lantern, when Kara spoke again.

“Look, I know you’re mad, but could you please not say anything about me being _me_ until we’re alone? The fewer people who know the better. That includes Crimson Fox and Lena.”

“Wait, Lena doesn’t know? How can she possibly not? She is an actual, certified genius. She  _has_  to know who you are.”

“ _Please_ Emily!”

“Okay,  _fine_. But after this is over—”

“After this is over, you can get as mad as you want.”

She sounded so resigned to the inevitability of Emily's anger that it made Emily’s stomach hurt to hear it. Then they were landing, and there wasn’t time to think about it anymore.

“You’re okay!” Lena made an abortive start toward them, like she’d been very nearly ready to offer hugs, then only just remembered she’d met Emily all of an hour ago and Supergirl’s arms were full. She compromised by folding her hands in front of her and beaming. “I’m so glad. And—I think this is a friend of yours?”

The friend indicated was Crimson Fox, who was clearly trying to take the whole rescue in stride, as though she and Supergirl flew around rescuing damsels tied to concrete support beams on a daily basis (which, maybe they did. Emily figured the papers probably didn’t manage to cover all their exploits).

“Yeah, uh, we’ve . . . I mean, we’ve met,” said Emily, settling her feet firmly on the balcony before nodding to Crimson Fox. “You saved my train. Also, my coworker gave you mittens. How’s Metropolis working out, anyway?”

“Metropolis-adjacent areas,” Crimson Fox corrected, but Kara brushed off the other superhero’s effort to diminish her own accomplishments.

“Superman says you’ve been instrumental in helping put everything back to rights after Lex Luthor’s recent attempts to end the world. He says they couldn’t have stopped him without you.”

The small part of Crimson Fox’s face that was visible beneath her cowl flushed almost as rosy as her suit. Lena flushed as well, though for, Emily assumed, different reasons.

Family reasons.

“In that case,” Lena said, managing to sound awkward and warm at the same time, “you have my thanks twice. _And_ my apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Crimson Fox said, looking a little awkward herself under the cowl. “We can’t choose our families.”

“My brother is a  _supervillain_ ,” Lena muttered, like maybe that went a little beyond your typical deadbeat.

“Well,  _my_  sister is a dogwalker,” Emily volunteered. Then, registering the relative innocuousness of that statement, quickly shook her head. “Know what? Never mind. I’m just glad you’re okay, Miss Luthor.”

Lena smiled encouragingly, which made the next thing Emily had to say about a thousand times harder. An hour ago she’d been re-imagining her whole life working for a woman she admired in the same city as the woman she had thought she knew. Now she had to put all of that behind her as quickly as possible, and there wasn’t a Band Aid metaphor sufficient to cover the sting of what she’d have to do next.

“I really hope you won’t take it personally when I say I’ve decided I need to withdraw my name from consideration for the job. I’ve decided,” she very deliberately did not look at Kara as she said this, “my future does not lie in National City.”

Then she made her own way out.

High time, she decided, that she left somebody else to clean up the mess.

 

**VII. Policy and Procedure When Breaking Up With Your Significant Other**

  * Present your reasons in a logical and unemotional tone of voice
  * Be firm in your resolve
  * No crying until after you’re home



 

Kara got back to the apartment before Emily did, because of course she did.

Because she was _Supergirl_ and she could _fly_.

Emily walked in fully intending to grab her bag and go, but Kara was standing there, still wearing that beautiful, infuriating, adorable costume and she looked so desperately hurt that Emily faltered en route to the chair where her bag sat.

“Emily, please. Yell at me if you want, get mad. Be _furious_. You have every right. Only please, don’t just _leave_.”

She really didn’t get it. Emily chafed at the urge to explain everything patiently.

“Kara, you’re _Supergirl_. That’s fine. I’m not mad at you for that. I mean, good for you? I’m not even sure how you manage to be a superhero _with_ a day job. That’s got to be a hell of a schedule.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Kara mumbled, and ducked her head. Emily flinched at the sight, woefully unprepared to see that not only was Kara Supergirl, but Supergirl was, at heart, undeniably Kara Danvers.

And that was the heart of the problem right there.

“I get why you couldn’t tell me,” she said softly. “Of course I do. It’s the only way for you and everybody you care about to stay safe. That’s Secret Identities 101, right? I completely understand. But I fell in love with  _Kara_ , so . . . how do I know you’re her? I mean yes, clearly, Kara Danvers is Supergirl,  but the person I know is Kara Danvers, and exactly how much of you is really her?”

“All of me.” Kara took a quick, eager step forward. “Emily, it’s all me. Every bit of it. I mean no, I don’t need glasses; at least not like other people need them. They do help in other ways. And obviously when I’m Kara I have to pretend I can’t do lots of stuff I really can, and also,” she was devolving into a Kara-esque ramble by this point, which was not helping strengthen Emily’s resolve in the least, “I can’t get needles or even get sick, because the needle won’t go in, and my body can’t host Earth’s bacteria or viruses, so when I took you to get tested that time that was really just a government lab that helps me cover up after myself sometime. And please believe me that even  _that_  secret I didn’t want to keep from you, but I _had_ to, for the same reason I had to keep the rest of it: to keep you safe. And me, too. Except today you nearly got hurt anyway, so I don’t even know what the point of hiding it from you really is, if you could still get hurt. And I’m sorry you did get hurt because of me.”

“Oh, well,” Emily felt an irrational desire to apologize for that. “I mean, that was almost an accident, really. I was just there. I wasn’t anybody important.”

“Don’t say that,” Kara said fiercely. “You are. You’re so important. You’re important to  _me_.”

Emily felt her resolve rushing past faster than the stories of L Corp do when you’ve just been thrown off a balcony.

“Oh.”

Kara ducked her head again. Her hand twitched toward glasses that weren’t there, and at the sight of Supergirl fidgeting and awkward like a grade school girl who hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to ask her crush to prom, the last of Emily's determination to make a clean, painful break and leave everything behind . . . shattered like her phone on the pavement outside L Corp.

“Damn it,” she sighed, “change out of that leotard before somebody looks through the window and sees me making out with Supergirl.”

It was the first proper demonstration Emily had ever got of her girlfriend’s superspeed. She approved of the result.

 

**Addendum I: Procedure for Post-Rescue, Almost-Breakup . . . You Know**

  * All of it. A big fat affirmative to that.



 

No, really, when you find out your incredibly sweet, earnest, hardworking girlfriend is actually the Girl of Steel and she just saved you from a—well, okay he wasn’t a super villain, but he was at least an up-and-coming villain with decent name recognition, so it totally counts—you want sex.

A lot of it.

All of it.

“I know _I’m_  indefatigable,” Kara said, propping herself up on the pillow and brushing Emily’s hair off her forehead, “but, don’t you think you should maybe re-hydrate, or something? Safety first, right?”

Emily tested the flex of her jaw, and had to concede it was pretty sore. But what help was there for it, when Kara rolled her hips up like that and Emily knew she was the one who made her do it? It was intoxicating, knowing you had just made Supergirl cry out your name like that.

Plus, she was quoting Emily’s own policy at her, and it just didn’t get any hotter than that.

“I don’t want to re-hydrate,” she pouted. “I want to do all of that all over again, only this time I want you to wrap your thighs around my head.”

“I hadn’t better,” Kara warned her. “The whole super-strength thing? Muscle spasms make it kind of prohibitive. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” She softened her touch on Emily’s face, still smiling fondly. “Safety first, right?”

“Fine,” said Emily, “no thigh-strangling. Unless, maybe . . .” she raised her eyebrows hopefully. “The thighs were mine?”

“I would love for you to wrap your thighs around my head,” Kara said solemnly. “It would be a privilege and a pleasure. But first you need a sports drink.”

Emily gave in, eventually. After all, Kara was right: safety first.

That was just good policy.

**Author's Note:**

> I loved your prompts for _Powerless_ , but your crossover prompts for _Supergirl_ were so intriguing I ended up watching the whole series in very short order and this was the result!
> 
> The references made to Lex's apocalyptic plans are based on a few teasers and comments I read about the _Powerless_ finale episode, which it looks like now we might not get to see.


End file.
